


Lemonade

by carriecmoney



Series: Totally F**ked [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Can't Catch Me Gay Thoughts, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-05-13 16:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carriecmoney/pseuds/carriecmoney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Seriously, after Oikawa’s Oikawaness, Iwaizumi with the shoulders and the intensity and the caring about people shit and you with…” Takahiro gestures at Matsukawa’s everything. “<em>That</em>. What am I?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> {A/N: I'm pinning this entirely on Sarah and Lonnie, the original matsuhana sin squad. I wrote this is an afternoon :9 [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Takahiro is so fucked.

He didn’t think that when he signed up for the Aoba Johsai volleyball club all those long years ago that he would be thrown in amongst a throng of demigods in short shorts, not only tall and athletic but with cheekbones that could filet fish and hair that never goes out of style. He never thought of himself as particularly _un_ attractive, but next to these teenaged Versace models, he was a shabby garden rooster. A rooster who couldn’t get any chicks.

After another failed attempt to start a conversation in the hall during lunch, he collapses over Matsukawa’s desk with a big groan. “What’s it take to get a girl’s number in this town,” he whines, cheek pressed against the cool wood, edge digging into his gut. Matsukawa just pats his head and puts his bento on his back in the same spot where it had rested on his desk moments ago.

“Girls are people, too,” he says, popping a sprout in his mouth. “Just talk to them like normal.”

Takahiro huffs and wriggles his hands. “Maybe you and your perfect hair can think that, but it’s a different story for us commoners.”

Matsukawa pokes his scalp with the butt of a chopstick. “You’re not _that_ bad, you know.”

Takahiro lifts his head to rest on his chin instead of cheek and glare up at Matsukawa’s hooded slow smile. “Says the swan to the ugly duckling.” Matsukawa rolls his eyes behind a blink. “Don’t you give me that, you know it’s true.”

Matsukawa arches an eyebrow. “Maybe you just need a chance to spread your wings, you little mallard.”

Takahiro wrinkles his nose. “Fuck off with your extended metaphors, bitch.” Matsukawa chuckles, low and warm like apple cider. “Seriously, after Oikawa’s Oikawaness, Iwaizumi with the shoulders and the intensity and the caring about people shit and you with…” He gestures at Matsukawa’s everything. “ _That_. What am I?”

“Selling yourself short, that’s what you are.” Matsukawa rests his temple on the side of his hand, fingers playing in his curls (as soft as they look, but only known in fleeting brushes). He grins. “Do you need me to teach you how to be a functioning human being?”

Takahiro narrows his eyes. “You’re making fun of me.”

“Yes.” He sticks another sprout in his mouth, chewing and swallowing before continuing, “You’re just in a poor-pitiful-me mood right now. This, too, shall pass.” Takahiro just glares at him more as he finishes off his lunch, unconcerned with Takahiro’s temper, and puts the empty box away. “Do you want to see if Oikawa’s parents are out of town this weekend?” he asks.

“ _Fuck_ yes.”

* * *

Oikawa’s house is the only one of the starting third year’s that doesn’t have little siblings getting their grimy hands in their hoarded alcohol stash, so over the years, it’s become the de facto house party throwing ground. His parents remember what it was like to be young, and since he’s the accidental baby of the family, when he bats his eyelashes and asks if they want to visit one of his older siblings for the weekend, they usually laugh and say of course, they’d love to. Sometimes it’s just the four of them, or whoever shows up from the team, or a few of Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s neighborhood friends rounding out their Ring of Fire game on the den floor. And sometimes it’s a little more than that.

“Don’t you think this is a little much?” Takahiro yells in Iwaizumi’s ear that Friday night over the blare of someone’s imported speaker system and fifty people crammed into Oikawa’s living room. Iwaizumi shrugs, leaning against the built-in bookshelf behind them.

“It’s not so bad if you let yourself get used to it.” He pops off the top of a new beer bottle against the shelf behind him, then hands it over to Takahiro and repeats the action for himself. “It’s just a party, Hanamaki.”

“I _know_ that.” Takahiro can’t help the tension snarled between his shoulders. He’s always preferred their smaller, timeless carpet gatherings to this human explosion, but he can’t tell anyone that. He chugs his lemony beer. Iwaizumi snorts; after so many years of dealing with Oikawa’s layers, he’s used to seeing through people. “Shut up.”

“Didn’t say anything.” Iwaizumi slaps him on the arm - one day he’ll recognize his own strength - and pushes off the bookshelf. “Go mingle or something, you look like your cat died last night.”

Takahiro grimaces at his plaid-stretched back, mouthing the words back with a whine as he rubs the forming bruise. Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow over his shoulder and ducks around the corner into the kitchen from where, even over the din of the den, Oikawa’s drunk squeal echoes. Takahiro curls in around his beer and wishes for a straw and a quiet corner.

He finishes the bottle in his wallflower niche, watching the party flow around him, faces ranging in familiarity flicking by, most of the lights turned off to set the mood. All the colors are dimmed with it, rendering the hair colors and eye colors and clothes colors into a foggy green-gray. Maybe he should try to talk to someone, but every time he works up the will to move away, the target person across the room gets a conversation partner, or someone else steps in his way, and of course he has to let them pass. He catches snippets of gossip with his invisible attention - mostly about friends he doesn’t know and homework he’s never done, but also about standard things, drunk things, a few secret things. He doesn’t even have anyone to snark about them with.

There’s a crowd of girls he sort of knows butting into his bubble, unaware of his presence, when the lukewarm empty bottle in his hands is replaced with a cold full one. He jumps and looks over - up. Matsukawa’s eyes smile at him, dark slits under damp curls. He clicks his plastic cup against Takahiro’s new bottleneck, taking a gulp without breaking eye contact. Takahiro gulps - gulps his new beer. “How long have you been there?” he asks.

“Not long.” He slides in closer to Takahiro, arms pressing together, so they don’t have to shout to talk. “You look miserable.”

“Yeah, well.” More beer. “It comes with the territory.”

“Aw, baby.” He leans in closer, his breath hot on Takahiro’s hot skin. “Weren’t you the one complaining about not being able to talk to girls just a few days ago? You’re standing right next to them and not even looking.”

 _More beer_. “They probably don’t want me in that conversation,” he mumbles around glass. “They’re talking about girl stuff.”

“Mmm?” Matsukawa holds his elbow as he leans over Takahiro to listen - he’s probably drunker than Takahiro, drunker than usual. “Mmm!” He laughs, chest vibrating against Takahiro’s shoulder. Takahiro can’t help but laugh along, some of his muscle strain dripping away.

“Yeah, and this is _tame_ compared to what they were talking about earlier.” He grins at Matsukawa - his face is _right there_. “Apparently every girl wants to screw the fox from _Robin Hood_.”

Matsukawa snorts, teeth flashing in a grin. “Well, I guess you’ve got a step ahead of us there.” He tugs on a twist of Takahiro’s hair, spins it around his finger. He’s plastered to Takahiro’s side by now, a heavy heat bearing down. Takahiro jerks his shoulder up and down, but he doesn’t budge.

“You’re so drunk, man.”

“Yeah.” He’s still got a finger in Takahiro’s hair - two now. Takahiro’s afraid to move, even enough to tilt his head back for the _more beer_ he needs right now. They eavesdrop on the girls’ chatter more, their own inebriated focus whiting out anything beyond their huddle as they screech about sex preferences and guy types. Honestly, why was he so desperate for this? It’s not - _no_.

He chugs half the bottle in his hands, Matsukawa’s hand slipping down to his shoulder. “Girls are into some weird shit,” he grunts out when his head is back to spinning.

“No kidding.”

“You know what’s really nice?” the girl in a shiny green shirt yells to her neighbor behind a cupped hand aimed back at them. “Guy on guy!”

“Oh!” her friend throws her head back with her laugh, cheeks red, and slaps green shirt’s arm. “Stop that, Yamachan, you’re so dirty!”

“It’s true!” Green shirt holds her friend for support, straw for her cup stuck in the corner of her mouth, eyes hazy. “Every time Okaa-san takes me to Tokyo with her on a business trip we stop by this doujinshi store, and it’s just _walls_ of it, _walls_.” She hiccups. “You can borrow some if you want,” she trills, drawing out the last word. Her friend shoves her hand in her face, still laughing.

“Shut _up_!” But she doesn’t look actually repulsed by green shirt’s admission - just like it should have stayed under the bed with all of those doujinshi.

Takahiro bites his lip, shoulders shaking. “What _is_ it about gay stuff with the other half that gets in people’s pants?” he asks aloud, watching the girls bicker more with a buried laugh.

“I wish I knew,” Matsukawa murmurs in his ear. He shivers. “I’ve been trying to see what guys see in girl on girl action for years.”

“Right?” He laughs and turns a little towards Matsukawa, setting his almost-empty bottle on an empty spot on a shelf between them. “It’s probably all fantasy, really - if those two girls started to go at it, I doubt as many dudes as claim they like it would care.”

“Or us for them,” Matsukawa says, waving a sloppy hand the girls’ direction.

Takahiro laughs, head to the side (away from Matsukawa, away). “I dunno, think it’s worth a shot? Bi guys get all the ladies,” he lies.

Matsukawa’s stare bores into the side of his face for a hot moment before he throws back the last of whatever’s in his cup and slams it on the bookshelf. “Okay.”

“Huh? Wha-”

Matsukawa’s hands slide around his neck, fingertips in the hair at his nape, as he takes a step around to box Takahiro in against the shelves, the uneven surface ridges and bumps against the arc of his back. He opens his mouth to bite back, but Matsukawa’s covers it first, wet and whiskey and straight lemonade powder poured down his throat - _heady_. He groans and twists his fingers in the hem of Matsukawa’s shirt, opening his mouth wider and tilting his head so Matsukawa can press his tongue in deeper, tracing over the ridges of his palate. Something falls over on the shelf behind him - probably a picture frame - but there’s no shatter, and Takahiro’s not too sure he would be able to stop and worry about it anyway. Matsukawa’s nose is smashed against his cheek hard, aggressive like he never is, teeth clacking against Takahiro’s, lips caught in the crossfire. Takahiro slides his hands around, Matsukawa’s shirt bunching so the tips of his fingers brush soft skin. Matsukawa lets out a tiny sound into his mouth, and Takahiro _caves_.

Who knows how long they make out against Oikawa’s bookshelf - or, at least, how long they would have if there wasn’t an increasing chorus of _ooh_ ing from one side. Takahiro yanks his head back, knocking it on a book and a wood corner, to glare around Matsukawa, who refuses to let him go, mouthing over his cheek on fire. About half the girls in the gaggle are staring, green shirt and her friend among them, jaws dropped. Takahiro sneers at them through the cloud of steam forming around him - he’s so _hot_.

“What’re you looking at?” he snaps. Matsukawa chuckles against his jaw.

“Let’em look,” he murmurs, yanking Takahiro back to him with his hold on his head, all his fingers wrapped in his hair now. Takahiro bites his lip, short nails digging into the dip of Matsukawa’s spine. Matsukawa smiles with his eyes and dips in to kiss him again.


	2. Rosehip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> {A/N: I just. I have no excuses other than I missed these nerds. And I needed a break from my Big Heavy Projects. [tumblr](http://carriecmoney.tumblr.com) [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/carriecmoney)}

Issei is so fucked.

Or, at least, he really wants to be. He presses his two forefingers to his mouth as Takahiro steps out of the dressing room contorted. “I look ridiculous.”

Issei raises an eyebrow and takes in the fitted black button-up with grey-embossed cabbage roses that just glint in the fluorescents, the pink corduroys Taka had to be bribed to try on. Issei hums. “You and I have different definitions of ‘ridiculous’, then.”

Taka’s face blooms as pink as his pants, turns away to the mirror at the end of the line of dressing room doors. “This just- it ain’t my _style_ ,” he whines. Issei stands from the hard couch and crosses over into the blind spot from the rest of the store to slide his hands into Taka’s back pockets. He squeaks as Issei buries his face in his hair.

“You don’t have a style,” he murmurs, “besides ten different hoodies and two pairs of jeans.” He squeezes before withdrawing his hands. “This is the start of me making you one. The insemination of fashion.”

“ _Gross_ , Issei.” Issei can’t help the little smile against Taka’s jaw at his given name - two months into dating, and the thrill of it is just the same. Taka sighs. “I’ll wear it to the stupid party,” he agrees, “but you’re paying for it.”

“I think I can handle that.” He slaps Taka’s ass back to his open door - Taka squeals. “Now go change back so I can get you that ice cream.” Taka grins, tugs on Issei’s ear in their public version of a cheek kiss, and bounces off to retreat into his old, baggy clothes. Issei sighs and flops back on the couch, staring at the distant department store ceiling.

 _So_ fucked.

* * *

It’s one of the last Oikawa house parties ever. Graduation is just around the corner, and everyone will be scattered to the four winds to make new house party parties. The core four will always be close, of course, but this particular interpretation will be lost. And Issei just isn’t feeling it.

Oikawa flops down on the couch next to him, cuddling in like his drunk self always does. Issei pats his head and sips his beer. Oikawa wraps his arms around Issei’s waist and burrows in. “You’re so nice and warm, Mattsun,” he hiccups. Issei chuckles.

“And you’re so nice and drunk.” He puts his beer out of reach of Oikawa’s wandering hands, the other one keeping him tamed by scratching his scalp. Oikawa purrs, nuzzling into his chest. Issei huffs and kicks his feet up on the coffee table, going back to his staring and brooding.

Across the living room, the thing keeping him from letting loose and having fun has no idea he’s being flirted with for the tenth time that night. The top two buttons on the nice shirt Issei bought him have popped open, freckles stark against his blotchy alcohol flush. The girl talking to him giggles, and Taka laughs, head thrown back.

“Stop growling,” Oikawa mutters, “you’re gonna mess up my aura.” Issei blinks - ah. “If you’re that jealous just go over and claim that ass.”

Issei’s nose wrinkles. “But he’s having a good time now that he knows he’s hot. I can’t spoil that.”

Oikawa props his chin on Issei’s shoulder. “Mattsun, my man, the only thing you could do to spoil his night or day or life is say you wanna break up.” Issei jerks, but Oikawa plows on. “Since we all know _that_ ain’t happening, go and have sex with that. Live your dream.” A puff of wind on his sweaty neck. “You do have good taste…” He licks Issei’s cheek. Issei writhes away, disgusted and laughing, as Oikawa follows, whining about wanting to taste more. Issei finally kicks him to the floor, where Oikawa pouts up at him with shining eyes and hair in his face.

“Oh, go find Hajime-kun and lick him, I’m sure he’ll like _that_ ,” he says before draining his lukewarm beer and standing. Oikawa perks up and scrambles to his feet, dancing off to find Iwaizumi and make him uncomfortable instead. Issei sighs, wiping his face on his sleeve, then works his way through the standing crowd of the bass-filled living room to the corner Taka has camped in.

He slides in beside him, hand slipping in that back pocket again. Taka jumps a little and whips to him - softens. The girl he’s talking to smiles. “Matsukawa-kun!”

“Yo, Mikage.” He narrows his eyes. “This kid giving you trouble?”

“If you mean not letting me take him shopping now that he’s learned colors exist, then yes, worlds of trouble!” She laughs, and Issei’s eyes narrow for a new reason, fingers digging into Taka’s ass. He squeaks, aluminum of his beer can crunching.

“Sorry, Mikage, but that’s my job. Boyfriend privileges and all that.” She grins as Taka lets out another squeak.

“Issei! Don’t be rude!” She puts a knuckle to her mouth to hold back her giggle. Taka rolls his eyes for her benefit. “I’m sorry about him, Mikage-san.”

She waves him off. “Oh, no, it’s cute! I just like to dress boys up, it’s so much fun!” She winks at Issei. “If you ever want some store recommendations, just let me know.” He ducks his head in a nod, and she leaves them with a flutter of her fingers to go join a conversation by the turned-off TV.

Taka punches him in the gut. “What was _that_ for?” he hisses.

Issei coughs. “People have been trying to take advantage of you in your new sexy, vulnerable state all night.” He sticks his nose in the cavity behind Taka’s ear. “I’m the only one allowed to do that.”

“Oh.” He hears Taka’s swallow down the throat only a few centimeters from Issei’s mouth. “If this is what having you as a boyfriend is like, I want a refund.”

Issei chuckles and backs away, hand slipping out of Taka’s pocket to latch onto his wrist. “Too late. The Matsukawa family has a strict no-returns policy.”

“Aw, really?” Issei hides a smile as he drags Taka through the party, idling around furniture corners like he doesn’t have a destination in mind. “I guess I can’t give back the jacket I borrowed last week, then. Or your PSP charger.”

“Those weren’t purchases, they were loans.” He swings Taka around at the base of the stairs, blocked off from partygoers by two upside-down dining room chairs, and lets him thump into his chest, grabbing him by the beltloops. “You and me, we’re bought and paid for.”

Taka blinks, then falls on him, arms around his neck. “Oh, Issei, seduce me with finance and retail.”

Issei laughs, hugging Taka around the waist. “I bought you clothes,” he says between chuckles, “I think I’m halfway there.” Taka barks a laugh and draws back to grin in Issei’s face. Issei swallows. “Wanna go mess with Oikawa?”

“Always.” Issei extracts himself from Taka to climb over chair legs, Taka following as they sneak up the stairs and down the dark hall to Oikawa’s bedroom, Taka’s fingers in Issei’s shirt. They duck in the open door and slide it closed behind them, the glow-in-the-dark stars muted after hours without light. Taka flicks the lights on and rubs his hands together. “So, are we moving everything five centimeters to the left or-”

Issei slaps the lights back off and grabs Taka’s face, smashing their mouths together, wet and hot and hoppy. Taka squeaks, eyes wide, before they slip closed, hands coming up to Issei’s back as he returns the kiss. Issei keeps his slitted open, watching the hairline wrinkles between his eyebrows, the array of freckles shifting like a time-lapsed starmap, sweaty hair sticking to his temples and forehead. Issei rubs thumb circles into Taka’s cheeks, and he moans, arching forward so more parts of them bump together. Their teeth clack as Taka surges in to taste more of Issei’s mouth, tongue on tongue, fingers digging into his shirt and probably leaving wrinkles. He closes his eyes.

Issei is the one that pulls away, Taka chasing his mouth. His hands fall to frame Taka’s neck. “We _could_ move the furniture,” he breathes, “or we could use it.”

“I fucking love you.” Issei blinks his eyes open, _wide_ open, as Taka does the same, dopey grin on for a second before his words sink in and it falls into shock. “Uh- I mean- well, like, uh, y’see, like-”

Issei picks Taka up in a bear hug and falls over onto Oikawa’s futon, laughing, rolling them around so he’s on top and pinning down a giggling Taka. He blows a raspberry into Taka’s neck, which just makes him shriek and gasp louder. Taka swings his arms around Issei’s neck, chest heaving under Issei’s, one leg wrapped around Issei’s.

“I fucking love you, too.” Issei pecks Taka’s nose, making him giggle.

“Good. That’s- good, great, awesome.” He yanks Issei back down into a real kiss, exhaling hard into each other’s ears as Issei lets gravity assist his offense, making Taka open his jaw wide so he can try and share the bubbling sunshine cider in his chest through mouth-to-mouth.

It works for a while, Taka wriggling and groaning under him, hands and feet refusing to stay still, rucking up clothing and mussing up hair. Issei disconnects the kiss to mouth down his jaw to his neck, the rayon of the shirt collar slick on his jaw as he grazes teeth over a tendon. Taka’s breath hitches, back bending, hips jerking. Issei moans-

“Stop. Iss, Issei, stop, please.” Issei closes his mouth, but doesn’t move otherwise. Taka struggles to breathe and regain the thought that made that bad decision. “I don’t want our first time to be on Oikawa’s bed,” he rushes out, “I want it on mine.”

 _Oh._ “I guess that’s okay.” He sniffs the pillow behind Taka’s head. “I wouldn’t want to get it up every time I smelled Oikawa’s shampoo, either. Iwaizumi would kill us.”

Taka snorts. “Maybe he’d let us share.” Issei pushes up to prop over Taka on his elbows. Taka smiles up at him, eyes soft, and brushes a few curls behind Issei’s ear. “I’ve always wanted a chance to get held by those big, strong arms.”

Issei raises an eyebrow. “So mine aren’t good enough?”

“Jury’s out.” He grabs Issei’s face and shakes it side to side. “Your face is better, though.”

“That’s high praise.” Taka grins. Issei shifts a little over him, and both of their attentions hone in on the emergent issues. “Are your parents home?” Issei breathes.

“Yeah.” Taka swallows. “But we can be real quiet…”

Issei shakes his head, still in Taka’s grip. “That’s not good enough.” He ducks in to mouth at Taka’s ear. “Mine are visiting my grandparents… are you willing to compromise?”

Taka hiccups, not quite a laugh, and digs his fingers into Issei’s shoulders. “We might have different definitions of a ‘first time’,” he whispers. “Maybe we don’t have to compromise.”

Issei hums. “That sounds agreeable.” They sigh against each other for another moment before Issei groans and climbs up, holding out his hands to help Taka up. Taka winces.

“I dunno how he sleeps on that. It’s lumpy to high heaven.” They look at each other, then dive down together to lift it up - he’s got a boxsprings of old volleyball magazines, American comics Issei translates as something called _Cowboys vs Aliens_ , notebooks on notebooks covered in school and sport notes, empty CD jewel cases, used tissues, and the scattered debris of someone who shoved the chaos of a dirty room under here every week. Taka snorts. Issei slaps a hand to his mouth. Taka breaks down, collapsing on his knees as he shakes with laughter, silent for a moment before he sucks in a breath and lets it escape in high-pitched cackles. Issei joins him, hiding his face in his hands. His stomach aches.

They let the futon fall back over the chaos, leaning into each other. “Oh, he’s never hearing the end of that,” Issei mumbles.

“Absolutely not.” They help each other back up, and Taka is about to lead Issei out by the hand when he stops, heels digging in. Taka looks back, head cocked. Issei grins.

“How about moving everything _ten_ centimeters before we go?”

Taka beams and tugs Issei’s ear. “Fucking love you.” He hops over to Oikawa’s desk, leaving Issei immobile before a volleyball hits him in the back to get him to snap out of it and help.


End file.
